


Got Your Back

by glacis



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-29
Updated: 2010-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:43:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A case puts Callen and Sam into a… compromising position.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got Your Back

_Got Your Back. Originally written for the [Small Fandom Fest](http://community.livejournal.com/smallfandomfest/) 06, Jan. 2010._

If it hadn’t been for one brave man, who knew how much might have been lost?

One man refused to give in to blackmail, refused to deny who he was, and refused to take the arguably easy way out.  Because of that, two previously unrelated suicides, a psychotic break, and an intelligence leak were all tied together.

Because one man decided if anyone was going to destroy his life, it would be himself, on his own terms, and without turning traitor.  ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ too often meant ‘Shame and Discharge’ and all that denial could end up in tragedy.

G Callen stared at Lieutenant Colonel Mark Stratten, and thought there was more than one way to define a hero.

“When were you first approached?”  Nate’s voice was gentle.

Stratten sat across from him in the interview room, back straight, eyes staring directly ahead.  He was pale, with bags under his eyes and lines of stress bracketing his mouth, but his determined expression never wavered.

“It was the first time I went to the bar…”

“Ganymede’s,” Nate prompted, glancing at his notes.

“Yes.”  Stratten swallowed harshly, eyes flickering over to G, standing still along the wall, before returning to Nate.  The story that followed was more common than many would like to believe.  Long-time officer, career Marine, proud patriot, and closeted gay man.  His family knew, but he’d been exceptionally careful on duty, and never been involved with anyone in the services, not wanting to risk his career.  For sex, he did a recon of any town he went TDY, and if he found a place (and there was always someplace) discreet (expensive) and private (until this one), he would indulge in a one night stand, before returning to a life of duty.

Ganymede’s only looked good on the surface.  Beneath, it was a web, and he was caught in it.

“There were rooms upstairs.  There are, in places like that, not like the bath houses or some of the wilder places, where guys just… wherever they’re at… this is better.”

“Less chance of anyone seeing you who shouldn’t,” G slid in quietly.

Stratten looked at him again, and nodded this time.  “I always knew there was the chance, but I did everything I could to minimize the risk.  But I’m human.  Sometimes…”  His voice trailed off, and he looked down.  He kept his eyes on his hands as he continued, his voice soft but as determined as his manner.

“He did a damned good impression of a sailor.  Sold me completely.  We went upstairs and had sex.  After I left I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.  That’s how it works.”

“Except this time it didn’t,” Nate said.

“It didn’t.  Three days later a manila envelope came to my desk through the mail.  In it were some stills.  Of me, and the guy.  In the room.  Having sex.  Along with it was a phone number.”

A glance at the file in Nate’s hands, and a brief nod from Nate confirmed that they had the number and had tracked it.  G would follow up with Eric after the interview.

“As soon as I got off duty I called.  The voice on the other end sounded distorted, but still understandable.  I thought they wanted money.  That would have been bad enough.”  He took a deep breath.  “I wouldn’t have paid them.  I would have brought it to you guys even then.  But it wasn’t money.  He wanted intel.”

Secrets.  Whoever the scumbag was, he knew enough about Stratten to be dangerous.  Knew what projects he was working on, what weapons systems and situational contingencies he was responsible for in his work at NAS Lemoore.  Maybe they just got lucky.  Or maybe it was a targeted sting, which it smelled like to G, and maybe they had a mole on their hands.

Only one way to find out.  If they went directly into Lemoore, they might spook the mole further undercover, and lose their chance to find out.  But if they went in through the other end, through the bar, then used the blackmailer to smoke out the mole, they could bag them both.  Close up a hole in security, and stop a scumbag from destroying more good men who just happened to be gay men.

“We will find them, and we will stop them,” Nate assured Stratten.

G leaned forward.  “Thank you for coming to us.  Are you willing to work with us on this case?”

Nate gave him a sharp glance, but Stratten nodded his head.  “I’m in.”  He knew this would result in his discharge, but he would still do what was right.

G gave him a brief, sincere smile, then turned and left the room.  Behind him, he could hear Nate take the questioning back up, wringing every possible detail from him.  This kind of case was right up Nate’s alley, with all the hidden truths and obfuscations, questions of character and subtle pressures.  G was more direct.  Not as direct as Sam, but still, his gut worked on a different wavelength than Nate, and it was telling him they didn’t have a lot of time.

Running up the steps to meet the rest of the team in the situation room, he was already parsing out tasks.  Nate would work with Stratten, Eric would work on cracking the electronics around the bar, Kensi and Dom would work on ties between the base and the bar, and Sam would be his wingman in Ganymede’s.

“Any luck on the phone number?” he asked Eric as soon as he got in the room.

“No, it was a prepaid disposable.”  His ‘of course’ was silent, but G heard it, and gave him a Look.  Eric looked abashed and turned to his keyboard.  “Not having any luck at the club, either.  I’ve been working it since the victim came in, and no luck.  Looks like they use an internal LAN, hardwired, even.  Obsolete!  But pretty secure.  Since it’s not using wireless, even with phones, I can’t slide in and hijack or even block anything.”

Well, that wasn’t good.  G looked at Sam, then over at Kensi.  So, shuffle on the tasks.

“Kensi,” he said quietly, “You’re going undercover with Stratten back to work tomorrow.  Hetty set it up with the CO.  Watch his back, and keep us apprised.  If they try anything with him, call it in and track them, but stay under the radar.”

She nodded, heading down for uniform fitting.  “Least this time I won’t have to flash my boobs,” she muttered.

Eric snickered.  “Wouldn’t do you much good with this crowd,” he cracked, then blushed and shut up when G upped the Look to ‘promising pain.’

“Eric,” Hetty’s voice made all of them start except G, who simply looked over his shoulder at her, “I have the falsified records for both Mr. Callen and Mr. Hanna.  I have inserted them into the requisite databases for the spy to find and forward on to the blackmailers, so that our agents will be targeted.”

“Bait,” Eric nodded.

“Indeed,” Hetty agreed.  “This will enable you to trace the electronic trail from accessing the files as well as hopefully tie the spy to the blackmailer.”

Clearing his throat, Dom broke in.  “Am I with Eric?”

“No,” Sam said, “You’ll be on the perimeter of the club.”  Dom’s eyes widened, and G continued where Sam left off.

“Sam’s going to have my back inside the club.  Since Eric can’t hack the system directly,” he ignored Eric’s irritated huff and went on, “you’ll need to be on the ground to find the transmission center.”

“Can’t G do that?  Like you did with that strip club a few weeks ago, when we got Saffar?”

“If I can’t disrupt the signal, he won’t be able to get away,” Eric pointed out.

“True,” Dom said, “but how about Sam?  He’ll already be on site.”

“Am I detecting a reluctance to participate in this investigation, Mr. Vail?” Hetty asked, her tone colder than they were used to hearing.

“No!” Dom quickly denied, “but I don’t understand why we need me at the club.”

G stared at him as he repeated, “Sam will have my back in the club.  We don’t have a sex worker on the inside to help us get in this time, like Katya did.  So I’m bringing my own partner.”

Dom made an interesting noise, and Sam asked, “Something going on with you, Dom?”

“No, it’s just… partner?  I mean, I know he’s your partner, but he’s… it’s a gay bar… and they’ve been taping people, I mean guys, doing… partner?”

Hetty sighed and patted Dom’s arm.  “Yes, Mr. Callen and Mr. Hanna are going undercover as gay men, in a gay bar, to find out who’s targeting vulnerable intelligence assets and blackmailing them.  I ask once more, Dominic, do you have issues with this case?”  The pat was closer to a vice grip by now and G raised an eyebrow.

Hetty didn’t like discrimination.  Especially from her agents.  She considered it beneath them.

“No, ma’am,” Dom whispered, looking stricken.

“Because if you do, get over them now, before they place your fellow agents in danger.”  The warning in her voice would have frozen open flames.

Dom swallowed, nodded, straightened practically to attention, and said, “No problems, ma’am.”

“Good.  Sometimes I forget how young you are,” Hetty murmured before she nodded at G and, finally releasing Dom, turned to make her way downstairs.  She paused at the entrance to the room and gave them one last glance.

“I despise leeches, gentlemen.  Those who profit from the pain of others, and place our national security at risk because of the unenlightened attitudes of a few, and the fear of others, must be taken down, and taken down hard.”

“We’ll do it, Hetty,” G assured her.  She smiled at him.

“I have every faith you will.”

The echo of her footsteps died away before G said, “The only reason Kensi is at the base and you’re at the bar is because a woman hanging out in the parking lot of a gay bar catering solely to men would look suspicious.  I’m trusting you to back us up here, Dom.”

“I will,” Dom promised him, looking a little embarrassed.

G looked over at Sam, who gave him a half-smile.  “So, I got your back, huh?” Sam said.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” G told him, ignoring the gulping sound coming from Eric and the determined silence from Dom.

The next evening, they were ready.  Or as ready as they’d ever be, G thought, staring at the full length mirror as Hetty fussed with his leather pants.

Leather pants.

Felt like they were strangling him.

“Are you sure I can’t wear jeans?”  It was a reasonable question.  He refused to admit he whined.

“Your cover is that of a man looking for a ‘hook-up’, Mr. Callen, not a day laborer wandering in off the street.  If you are ‘looking for action’ you must look the part.”  Those words just sounded strange coming from Hetty.

He looked down at her, then looked over his shoulder, checking out his ass in the mirror.  Dark brown leather hugged every inch.  It was easy to see he was going commando, not like he could do anything else with pants that were painted on.  They were topped with a dark blue shirt opened at the neck, tails trailing around his hips, showing his ass with every movement he made.  “Well, if anything says ‘take me now’ this would do it.”

That got a glimpse of a smile out of her.

“You think you got it bad,” Sam definitely whined.

G looked over at his partner, then, after a long moment, remembered to close his mouth before the drool escaped.  Damn, but Sam looked fine.

“You look fine, Sam,” Hetty reassured him.

G didn’t think her definition of ‘fine’ was quite the same as his, since hers meant ‘covered’ while his meant more along the line of ‘fuckable.’  Sam was dressed in black, from his shined black boots to his deep black slacks to his black silk shirt.  He looked dangerous, if you ignored the pout on his face.  G grinned.

“Yeah.  Fine.”

He knew the difference in his meaning came through in his tone, because Hetty gave a very ladylike snort and walked away, while Sam glared at him.

“Enjoy yourselves, gentlemen, but not too much.”

“Hetty!” Sam protested.

G snickered.  “Come on, wingman, let’s go catch us a scumbag.”

“Fine, my ass,” Sam grumbled.

Yeah, G thought, very fine.  He looked back to notice that Sam wasn’t pouting anymore.

He was staring at G’s ass.

Okay.  This assignment just got a whole lot more entertaining.

~~

In the three years Sam Hanna worked for NCIS, he’d been in some strange situations.  Since hooking up with G Callen, the weirdness multiplied, because G was a weird-magnet.

None of those situations had ever been quite as strange as this one.

Staring through his beer glass at the guy sitting way too close to him at the bar, Sam bit back a sigh and forced himself not to move.  They were after a blackmailer, and maybe a traitor, or maybe just a pipeline, but any way you looked at it, it had to be shut down.  Unfortunately for him, the scene of the action was a fancy place called Ganymede’s.

A gay bar.  Of course.

Sam was the advanced scout.  G would be the one doing the heavy lifting.  G could do the big eyed, sensitive mark with no trouble whatsoever.  Kensi was with the original mark, Eric was on the wires, Dom was on the perimeter just outside range of the parking lot cameras, and Sam was inside.  When G got into it, Sam would have his back, and together they would bring down the bad guys.

His thoughts shifted to the briefing, while his situational awareness remained high, specifically regarding the creepy dude shifting close enough to him to fall off his bar stool.  The blackmailer behind this glitzy façade was taping men in key intel positions doing nasty things with people they picked up in the bar, then using those tapes to extort those men into giving up information, which was then sold to the highest bidder.  The fact that the main buyer seemed to be the Chinese and not Al Qaida didn’t change the fact that it had to be stopped.

A man who refused to back down or give in brought NCIS into the case.  Then they found that the roots went deep.  A couple men had killed themselves.  More, they didn’t know how many, had caved in to the pressure.  Kensi was on the trail of the mole on the Navy side, and he and G would take out the trash on this side.

Like Hetty, Sam hated leeches.  People who preyed on others, and victims too weak, or too scared, to fight back.  Sometimes they gave in, turned traitor.  Sometimes they refused, were outed, their lives ripped apart.  Sometimes they took the only other route, and took their own lives.  In the end, good men were destroyed, and enemies learned things they shouldn’t know.  Sam would do whatever it took to bring the scumbag down.

Even if ‘what it took’ was hauling G off to a back room and getting taped ‘simulating sexual intercourse’ with him.  Sometimes their briefings made Sam twitch.  This had been one of those briefings.

Looking at G in skin-tight leather and a shirt that turned his eyes electric blue, well, that made him twitch, too.

Hetty and Eric had done a good job with the set-up.  They’d liaised with NCISRA for details, and made G a nice juicy target, complete with a false dossier from NATEC for the mole to find.  G went in, wired but seemingly alone, and established his cover: Naval intelligence, up from NAS Lemoore, closeted and lonely, out for a good time but slow to get started.  Sam came in later, also wired, setting up his cover as a Marine weapons instructor out from Miramar.  Mean, picky, and looking for a fight – it kept Sam from too much unwanted attention, and set up the ‘meet’ that would make the sting work.  It also got him the information he needed about the rooms upstairs from one of the hopefuls.

So here they were.  G was at a table, making himself look vulnerable (hell of an actor, his partner was), subtly inviting then suitably fending off the hired hands sent over by the blackmailer to lure him into the setup.  Sam was at the bar, trying not to get hit on by the hopeful creep now not very far from crawling into Sam’s lap.

At exactly the right moment, G gave him the signal, the creepy dude shifted an inch too far, and Sam slid off his stool in the opposite direction.  Creepy whacked himself on Sam’s empty stool, Sam gave him a cool smirk over his shoulder, and half a dozen steps later, he was tapping the guy crowding G on the shoulder.

“You bothering my friend,” Sam told him.

G gave a convincing performance of a man saved by a complete stranger (who was compellingly attractive) from a complete stranger (who was not).  His eyes lit up, he flashed a little smile, he practically bounced like a puppy in his chair, his whole body saying ‘save me!’  G nearly rolled his eyes, but held himself to another smirk.

The hired hand tried to look intimidating.  Sam glared and flexed his biceps, and the guy fled.  It was kind of funny, even under the circumstances.  He sat down next to G and gave him his best flirtatious look.

“So help me God, if you say ‘come here often?’ I’m gonna dump my drink on your head,” G growled in an undertone, not losing his smile for a moment.

Sam bit his lip to keep from laughing, and shook his head.  “Would I do that to you?”

“In a heartbeat,” G told him, then leaned a little closer.  “They’re watching us.”

“Showtime,” Sam told him, reaching out to draw one fingertip along G’s lower lip.

G’s breath caught, and his eyes sparkled.  Sam wondered how he did that, then one side of G’s mouth curled up, and the tip of his tongue darted out, and licked Sam’s finger.

Sam froze.  “You licked me.”  He sounded a little breathy.

The other side of G’s mouth curled up, and he whispered, “Roll with it.”

So he did.

The next half hour was stranger than usual, even for an undercover op, much more G’s forte than Sam’s.  Given his physical type, Sam often played the same sort of role – muscle of some variety – while G was the chameleon.  However, in the current situation, Sam fit the profile of a particular hypermasculine stereotype of gay man (according to Nate), while G was a ‘cub’, or a ‘bear’ in the making, an inexperienced bottom who, from what Sam could figure out, was a little furry.

It was all a little fuzzy, really.  It often was when Nate got on a roll, especially when he started in on subtypes and military men being on the ‘down low’ because they wanted to avoid being discharged, not to hide from their wives.  Sam had caught the gist of most of it, while G zoned out, Dom tried to hide behind the computer banks, Eric blushed hard enough to combust and Kensi took notes.

All the briefings for this case had been weird.

Still, here he was, playing with G’s collar and getting in his space.  And there G was, flirting like a mad thing and making those leather pants look hot instead of ridiculous, not something Sam thought possible when he’d seen them on the rack.

And he couldn’t even blame it on the drinks, ‘cause he was sticking to bubbly water.

Over an hour after he first entered the bar, about forty minutes after he ‘rescued’ G, Sam had one arm around his partner’s waist, three fingers dipping down the back of his waistband, and he was nuzzling the side of G’s neck.  G tasted surprisingly good, or maybe the salt just made him hungry.  G had one hand wrapped around a beer he wasn’t drinking, and one hand tracing patterns on Sam’s thigh.

It was fucking distracting.  His jeans were tailored to fit, and his boxers were getting a little tight.  Trailing his lips down to G’s throat, Sam took a peek in G’s lap and was at least gratified to find he wasn’t the only one getting a little revved up with all the touchy-feely stuff.

G made that leather look damned good in the front, too.

A little crackle in his ear made him still, and he felt G still beneath his arm as well.

“Callen’s file has been accessed,” Eric’s voice came through the ear bud.  “Kensi’s on it at the base.  I’ve got a trace from the club to the base.  The mouse has taken the cheese.  Which might explain why Sam’s nibbling on Callen,” Eric snickered.  “Showtime!  Say cheese!”

“I will kill you when we get back,” Sam whispered in G’s ear, and Eric’s snicker died abruptly.

“Time to take this upstairs,” Sam mock-ordered G, who gave him a bashful smile with a hungry edge to it, completely in character.  Ignoring the charge that went straight to his groin at the sight of it, Sam gently herded G off his stool and guided him toward the stairs.  He walked a little behind and to the side of G, making sure whoever was watching got a good look at his hand cupping G’s ass.

Got to sell it, Sam thought, and smirked, squeezing just a little.  G jumped and looked over his shoulder, eyes wide, smile wider.  ‘Ravish me’ was written all over his face.

Sam wasn’t sure whether to laugh out loud or jump him on the stairs, so he stayed with the plan, and crowded him up to the next floor.  The not-particularly-subtle direction from the bouncer made it clear which room to go into.  As Sam used his body to push G into the room, Eric’s voice crowed in their ear again.

“Gotcha!  I’ve managed to hack into the line they’re using to record.  Can’t jam the blasted thing, but I have you on visual.  Grk.”

The last sound was no doubt in reaction to Sam shoving his hand down the back of G’s pants and using a firm grip on his ass to pull G up to him.  G made a huffy little noise and buried his face in Sam’s neck, his arms going around Sam’s waist, clutching at his shirt.

Face hidden from any camera that might be locked on them, G whispered, “Where are the eyes in here, Eric?”

“Uh, bad news, guys,” Eric answered, sounding a little strangled as Sam rotated his hips and rubbed up against G’s front.  G wriggled closer in response.

“Looks like a multi-eye set-up.  No dead spots.  Any talking you do to me will have to be fully masked.”

“So we sell it,” Sam said into G’s ear.  G shivered.  Huh.  Must be a sensitive spot.

“How are you coming with the track, Dom?” G asked, sounding like he was talking about the weather.  Damn, he’s good, thought Sam.

“No luck so far,” Dom said shortly.

“Signals are masked and I’m working on it!” Eric put in.

“Get a move on, guys, or this could be quite a show,” G whispered against Sam’s throat, and it was Sam’s turn to shiver.

Turned out it was one, and Sam had nothing but appreciation for the depths G would go to in order to sell a character.

~~

Eric was working as fast as he could, as was Kensi on her end at the base, but he kept hitting walls.  Not only was security a bitch at Ganymede’s, but whoever the mole was knew his or her way around the system.

“Looks like the only way we’re going to find him is to follow the trail from the club,” Kensi groaned.  “I am having NO luck here.  He’s too damned good.”

“Have to be, to be doing it this long without getting caught,” Eric admitted.  “Okay, guys, I hate to say this, but we’re going to have to let the show go on long enough for the blackmailer to transmit images to the mole.  That’s the only way we’re going to flush him out.”

Somebody moaned, either Sam or G, but he couldn’t tell.

“Guess we’ll have to give him something to see, then,” G whispered over the line.  Eric looked up from the coding on his monitor to see what was happening in the club, then found he couldn’t stop staring.

He’d always considered himself mainly straight, but was self-aware enough to know he could get turned on by anything, and he was sometimes bi-curious, especially around G.  Sam and Kensi were intimidating, each in their own way, and Dom was kind of like his brother.  He could have gone for Abby, but she hadn’t really responded… okay, at all.  But there was something about G that gave Eric the impression that, under the right circumstances, anything might happen.

From the look of the action on the screen, undercover in a gay club with his partner met the criteria.

Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed, with G straddling him.  Eric had tapped six cameras focusing on the room, so he had a panoramic view of the action.  Sam had one hand clamped on G’s ass, looked like he was kneading it, and G was moving on top of him like a snake.  Did he even have any bones?  Eric, distracted by wondering what sex would be like with a guy who could bend like Gumby, nearly missed it when Sam’s other hand came up to cup G’s head and pull him down into a scorching kiss.

Hm.  Maybe G stood for Gumby, after all.  How else could he manage to get Sam’s shirt off without peeling their bodies away from one another?

Sam had the easier task.  He ran his hand down from G’s neck to the collar of his shirt, then down his back, peeling the shirt away with it.  Then he swept his hand back up, slowly, lingering over the bullet scars.  Eric looked over at another angle, where he could see their faces, and was caught up in how they were looking at each other.

Like there was nothing else in the world.

G’s hands were moving over Sam’s chest, tracing the muscles, ghosting over the nipples, then up to his shoulders, his neck, framing his face.  G bent over closer, bringing their faces together in a kiss that made Eric’s glasses steam.

If this didn’t scream ‘BINGO’ to the blackmailer, he wasn’t sure what would.

But, so far, no ping from the connection.

G’s kisses went from Sam’s mouth… eventually… down to the side of his neck.

“Any sign of a transmission?” G asked.

Eric wondered how he could possibly not be out of breath, but he sounded perfectly normal.  Eric had to clear his throat before he could answer.

“Not yet.”

“Fuck,” Sam muttered.  It could be taken by the blackmailer watching as a reaction to G’s movements, though Eric thought it was more irritation that it was taking so long.

“May have to,” Eric responded absently.

Choked noises came from Kensi and Dom both.  On the screen, Sam’s eyes got really wide.  G snickered.

“Sorry,” Eric muttered

“Not quite yet,” G said seductively, and Eric shivered in spite of himself.

Turning up the volume on the tracer, waiting for the ping, he found himself watching Sam and G like they were a porno flick.  Given the way they were moving on each other, it might as well have been the establishing scene of one.

Then G started unzipping Sam’s pants, and Sam threw an arm over his face (probably to cover an uncontrollable ‘what the fuck?!’ expression) and G whispered, “Can you see what I’m doing from any angle?”

Eric swiftly checked all the cameras.  “Damn.  Yes.  The fourth camera is practically bed-level.  They’ll be able to tell if you try to fake it.  Sorry!  Four cameras are at each corner of the bed, from ceiling level to bed level, the fifth is side-on to the bed, about eighteen inches up from bed level, and the last one is coming from the ceiling, just center point of the bed.”

“Shit!” said Sam, and G rolled his shoulders.

“Hang on, I have an idea.  Sam, we give ‘em veracity.”

Sam’s arm flopped over to the bed and he stared down at G’s face.  G nuzzled him through his boxers.  Then he moved so that his mouth was hidden by the bulk of Sam’s growing erection (which left Eric pretty speechless – Sam was hung).

“I get you wet, then you thigh-fuck me.  It’ll look real.  If they don’t send that, I don’t know what they’ll want.”

Sam growled.  Actually growled.

G apparently took that for consent, because he hooked his thumbs in Sam’s shorts, slid them down past his knees, and swallowed Sam’s cock all the way down to the root.

Eric had to stuff his hand in his mouth to muffle his moan.  That was insanely hot.

Sam must have felt the same, because his hands shot out to wrap around G’s skull.  This also had the effect of blocking some of the camera angle to the expert blow job G was giving him.

“Guys,” Eric hesitantly slipped in, “I can still see part of what’s happening, but the hands mask most of it.”

“Okay, yeah, okay,” Sam chanted.  By now, G was curled half on Sam’s lap, moving his hips lazily against Sam’s shin, for all the world humping him and getting off on blowing him.

Eric grabbed a bottle of water and chugged half of it without taking a breath.  Then he cleared his throat again.

He could see the base of Sam’s cock and the front curve of his balls.  G’s mouth was moving just at the top range of the view, mostly shielded by Sam’s hands.  It was an extremely convincing fake blow job.  Except, of course, the shine of spit and pre-ejaculate he could see on the other end of Sam’s hands, at the tip of his cock.

A strangled sound behind him made Eric rip his eyes away from the screen long enough to see Nate, eyes wide as dinner plates, standing behind him, staring at the screen.  Eric glared at him.

“Right,” Nate choked out.  “I’ll just go… make sure nobody else… comes in.”  He turned and wandered out the door.  Eric half-expected him to run into the wall, but by the time that would have happened, he was back to staring at the screen himself.

Monitoring.  Yes.  Monitoring.  That’s what he was doing.

Not perving.

Except now Sam was pulling G up on the bed with him, peeling those sinful leather pants down his thighs as he did, and they were sliding all over each other, and camera two gave a clear view of their cocks rubbing against each other, and yes, Eric was most definitely perving.  G was almost as well-hung as Sam.

After another scorching kiss, and some body wiggling that made Eric’s skin itch (not to mention how tight his shorts were), G knelt on the bed on his hands and knees, presenting his ass to Sam like a gift.  They were at a thirty-degree angle to the bed-side cameras, and Sam’s head bent over covered some of the space between their bodies, but not all of it.

“Eric, does this look convincing?”  Sam, at least, was a little breathless.  As he asked, he guided his cock down and between G’s thighs.  G arched his back and moaned like he was taking it a little further up.

Eric coughed, peered closely, and reported, “Yes, I can’t tell from any of the camera angles exactly where you are.  It looks just like you’re fucking him.”  Then he coughed again.  “Er, I mean…”

“Perfect,” G groaned.  Eric thought G was talking to him, but from the look he gave over his shoulder, he might have been talking to Sam.

Then Eric’s eyes narrowed.  Man, G was good at this.  His face was at the perfect angle for the lower left bed-side camera.  Between Sam’s hips, his head and hands almost covering the ‘entry point,’ and G’s body language and facial expression, it was a perfect fake-out.

With a muffled curse, G bent his arms so that his hips were up in Sam’s grasp, but his shoulders were on the bed.  He pillowed his face with one hand and reached the other down to his crotch.  A moment later, Sam straightened out more and really started moving his hips.  It looked for all the world like Sam was banging the hell out of G, who was moving his arm vigorously like he was jerking himself off in time to Sam’s thrusts.

Eric had to stuff his hand in his mouth again to keep from moaning out loud.  Hot, hot, hot, hot, hot.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Sam chanted, more of a grunt than words.

G yelped, and his whole body jerked.  Sam growled, loudly, then pushed in until his groin was flush with G’s ass and held tight, his hips pumping a little before he stilled.  The alarm on the outgoing feed pinged.

Eric stopped biting through his palm long enough to bark, “Must’ve been the money shot – transmission outgoing!”

“Thank god,” Sam groaned, and collapsed onto G’s back, bringing a muffled protest from G as he collapsed under his partner.

After a moment, Eric remembered he had a job to do, and got back to the coding flooding his monitor.

When this was all over, he was going to take a quality five minutes in the men’s room.  He needed it, after that show.

~~

A few moments after the grand finale, Sam ‘pulled out’ and dropped lazy kisses down G’s back, making sure he got every bullet hole scar along the way.  G squirmed but let him do his thing before rolling underneath him.  Sam sprawled out, mostly on top of G, and G wrapped his arms around Sam’s shoulders, pulling him into a deep kiss.  Then it was Sam’s turn to wander kisses down the side of G’s neck, as he asked, “We good?”

“Yeah,” G breathed.

“Definitely!” Kensi chimed in.  “We have our mole hole!”

“For sure,” Eric said at the same time.  “Dom’s got the map along the LAN now!”

There was a rattling noise, then the sound of a thump.  “Got him,” came Dom’s satisfied voice.

G grinned up at him, and Sam smiled back down.  Now all they needed to do was wrap it up.

And find their pants.

~~

The rest of the case was booking, interviewing, paperwork, exhaustion and satisfaction.  The norm.

“Excellent work, everyone,” Hetty told them a few hours later at the debriefing, a proud note in her voice.

Sam, still in his black hustler’s outfit, and G, back in his jeans, looked just exactly the same as they always did.  Dom looked much more relaxed.  Kensi looked a little smug (she’d clocked the mole a good one as the guy tried to escape, and was feeling proud of herself).  Nate was trying his damnedest for professional inscrutability.  Eric was blushing and staring at his monitor, trying not to look at anyone.

“Now go home and get some rest.”  Hetty gave them one last approving look, then glanced over at Sam and G.  “We’ll talk about receipts in the morning.”

Sam dropped his head against his chest and sighed, while G gave Hetty a ‘who me?’ look.  She rolled her eyes and headed down to her desk.

For once, G didn’t crash at headquarters.  As he reached for his bedroll, Sam took it and slung it over his own shoulder.  G gave him a questioning look.

“I got your back,” Sam reminded him softly.

G smiled, a real smile for a change instead of a smirk, and followed his partner out the door.

Wouldn’t be the first time he went home with Sam.  At least there, he wouldn’t have to worry about camera angles.

FIN


End file.
